As Bad as Days Get
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Miss O'Brien and Molesley on the evening after the garden party. Written as a request for A.Hand.Full.Of.Pearls.
1. Chapter 1

**Written as a request for ..Pearls. Not a pairing that I have ever considered before; I hope I can get it to work. **

All in all it hadn't been a very good day, Sarah O'Brien concluded. The ghost of a laugh escaped her lips as she lowered her cigarette. She exhaled deeply, closing her eyes as the smoke flurried into the air above her face. She had killed a baby for no reason and the country was at war: that was probably as bad as days got. It made quite a change to be able to smoke alone, without Thomas harping on in her ear. She would have to get used to it, she supposed. Well, out with the old; in with the new. Except there would be no new. She tapped her ash onto the ground.

It would make her old mam turn in her grave to know the way things were going. She had been happy to see her daughter a lady's maid with the hope that she would find herself a husband. That was a laugh, she hadn't banked on Elsie Hughes, guarding the door between the two servants' corridors like a dragon in a fairytale. It was no secret that she was widely disliked by the staff anyway. She and Thomas might have made a thing of it, in a different life. This time she actually laughed aloud a little to herself. She took another drag on her cigarette and paced back and forth as she exhaled.

"Mind if I join you?"

The voice was unfamiliar at first. She turned to see who her companion was and was surprised to see the Crawley's butler standing almost to attention beside her.

"You not gone home yet?" she asked.

Although it was not meant to come out as rudely as it did, he was evidently expecting it to. He looked down at his shoes.

"The master is still here, talking to his Lordship and they told me to wait here and we'd go together."

She nodded, it made sense.

"Smoke?" she offered, surprising herself.

He shook his head.

"I just fancied getting out of there for a minute," he told her indicating with his head towards the back door to the kitchen.

Understandable. She took another drag.

"I imagine, they're all working up merry hell." 

He confirmed her suspicion with a nod.

"Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes are trying to keep them all calm but they don't stand a chance. Anna was quite frantic."

"Well she would be," Sarah confirmed, "What with old Bates being of fighting age. That is if that wretched leg of his doesn't stop him."

Molesley seemed confused. Looking at him properly for the first time, she saw that his expression was a mixture of curiosity and confusion.

"Why?"

She snorted.

"Well, our Anna's been carrying a torch for Bates since he arrived. Well, not so much a torch an 'hole bonfire."

He seemed unduly shocked.

"Don't look so surprised. Stranger things have happened at sea."

He also seemed to exhale greatly. Having taken another smoke, she looked back at him; more closely this time. His expression seemed somehow aggrieved.

"What?" she asked, a little discourteously. But then it was him who had come to her.

Molesley was looking back down at his shoes.

"Nothing," he replied after a long while.

"You won't find your reflection there, you know."

He looked up.

"What?"

"In your shoes."

It took him a moment to work out what she was saying.

"Oh." 

Having already sounded rude and discourteous, there didn't seem much point in holding her tongue now.

"Not the brightest one, are you?"

It didn't seem to offend him: he hardly even looked reproachful.

"No," he agreed. The thought of returning to his shoes seemed to cross his mind but he decided against it, "There's plenty clever people in this world who use their brains to the wrong ends. Now, I'd like to think that that wouldn't be me but at the end of the day who's to know?"

Although there was no way that the words were meant to, they hit her like a smack it the face. It was her turn to gaze at the ground. This he seemed to notice and so she threw the end of her cigarette on the ground to escape a withering remark. She folded her arms around her middle as she crushed it beneath her shoe. He was standing to attention again and watching her. It felt like she had to say something. She half-turned so that she was partially facing him.

"Quite so, Mr Molesley."

There was silence between them. The evening air was still warm, it was the only thing keeping them here now that the cigarette lay extinguished on the floor.

"Why did you want to stand with me?" she asked, mildly curious.

He shrugged a little.

"You seemed calmer than that lot inside," he answered with a hint of wariness.

"I often am."

There was a pause.

"It'll get an awful lot quieter very soon."

The remark made him seem uncomfortable.

"Not where I'll be going," he told her.

"You'll join up then?" she asked.

He only half-shrugged this time.

"If they'll take me," he answered, "If I'm not too old. A man ought to fight, if he can. It wouldn't feel right if I didn't at least try."

It seemed odd that only now in her disgrace had she been able to acquire a companion of good character. It was pretty plain to her that Thomas had jumped on the chance to take a position that would find him anywhere but on the battlefield. He was young, he was fit, it should be he and not Mr Molesley here sticking his neck on the line. It seemed that he was too good to do so. She nodded her head again; of all the forward things she would say to him, that certainly wasn't going to be one.

He seemed to take her silence as a sign that all possible discussion between them had been exhausted.

"Would you allow me to escort you inside?" he asked, albeit timidly.

She actually felt herself smile a bit as she turned to him.

"You're quite the gentleman, aren't you?" she remarked.

He seemed to be unsure as to whether or not she was joking. Guessing that it was the safest option, he tried to take the remark with dignity while trying to hide his uncertainty.

"I'd never have expected you, of all people, to say that, Miss O'Brien," he replied.

"Why ever not?" she asked, although it was not at all necessary, "I can be quite a surprising piece of work, me."

And not only in a good way, a voice niggled at the back of her head. Her jaw clinched instinctively. He obviously noticed this. He raised an eyebrow in the way that butlers have of making silent enquiry. It was odd how he and Mr Carson should execute the same movement to completely different effect. She nodded and tried to force a lighter tone into her voice.

"Very surprising at times."

He seemed curious at this.

"How surprising?"

Her recent paranoia told her to be careful of the question but judging by his expression he meant it innocuously.

"Well, if I told you, it would be a surprise then, would it? You noodle." 

He laughed at that. Sarah did not know what, apart from the spur of the moment made her do what she did next. She stretched up a little as he was taller than her and kissed him swiftly and briefly on the lips.

"That surprising, Mr Molesley."

And with that she did not wait for him to escort her inside but made her way quickly inside, leaving him to realise his bewilderment outside.

**Did I get it to work at all? I enjoyed it even if I didn't! Please tell me what you think. I'm also unsure as to whether or not I should leave this as it is or write some more of it.**


	2. Chapter 2

She woke in the morning feeling no more down-cast than usual. The sky had turned dramatically from yesterday's golden late summer to a dull grey wash. With unusual attention to detail, she dressed herself; smoothing out the folds in her skirts. She even gave a vague nod of acknowledgement to Mrs Hughes as their paths crossed in the servants' corridor. Fleetingly she caught a glimpse of the housekeeper's expression of surprise and confusion before turning to descend the stairs. She was remarkably conscious of the woman's presence behind her. It made her feel somehow under scrutiny- perhaps because she was. The feeling was uncomfortable for obvious reasons. Sarah was glad when she departed on the ground floor, no doubt to chase unsuspecting housemaids around the sitting rooms, while she herself continued to the ground floor.

The sight of Thomas sitting at the table brought a foggy memory of the previous evening swimming back into her consciousness. Mixed somewhere among the regular plumes of cigarette smoke in evening air was lodged something quite different: a conversation, brief and vague, stiltedly formal but with a reluctant intimacy. She closed her eyes at the thought of it. What had come over her? A kiss. Why, Sarah O'Brien?- she questioned herself.

"What's sticking you to the floor?"

Anna's voice lurched her out of her thoughts. It was then that she realised that she was standing stock still, partially obstructing the entrance to the servants' dining room. She ought, out of habit if nothing else, to make some kind of snappish counter-remark but her mind was too frayed to go to the trouble of finding one.

"Nothing," she replied hastily and moved off, making for her usual seat.

Thomas removed his foot from her chair and faced his newspaper. She made no attempt to address him.

"Cat got your tongue, Miss O'Brien?" he enquired with his usual disinterest, eyes not leaving the print in front of him.

She shook her head, she didn't have the patience for his boyish whining today. Upon receiving no audible reply, he lowered the paper and turned to her, looking expectant.

"Well are you going t' spit it out or not?" he pressed.

She shook her head.

"Can't you ever just leave it?" she shot back at him.

He seemed to get the message.

"Pardon me for breathing," he returned.

The use of her own brand of irritated sarcasm stung at her, by way of comeuppance for its frequent use. A reminder of her own unpleasantness was not exactly the thing she wanted at the moment. She stood up, not minding that her hand hit the table a bit too forcefully as she manoeuvred herself. It seemed to capture the attention of most of the other servants assembled. She saw Thomas's mild expression of surprise out of the corner of her eye. Without really thinking about it, she headed for her usual spot by the kitchen door. It was a bit early in the day for this.

* * *

She did not bank on him being there two days in a row. That was how his appearance took her even more by surprise than it had the night before. She did not attend the servants' supper, excusing herself on account of a bad head. It had been a long day, the hazy feeling in the back of her head never quite managing to leave: she sat down on the step to take her cigarette.

"Good evening, Miss O'Brien."

Her head bowed and absent-mindedly focused on the gap between two cobbles, she did not see him approach. Her cigarette hung loosely in her hand by her side. She raised her head at the sound of the voice, trying not to appear startled by it.

"Mr Molesley."

She took a drag and tried to look indifferent. He seemed perturbed by her brevity.

"Might I have a seat?" he asked.

Lowering the cigarette, she gestured wordlessly to the space on the step beside her. He accepted her offer and lowered himself somewhat awkwardly to the spot that he was told. Once there, the air of awkwardness remained. If he wanted to discuss what had happened the night before, he was going to have to be the best judge of how to begin; she was not going to do it for him. He cleared his throat discreetly: another butler-ish trait, she thought to herself.

"I was wondering if you were...if you were all right. You seemed...distracted last night."

The silence broken, she felt able to approach the situation with the coldness that she would usually afford it. She raised her cigarette back to her mouth.

"I suppose you might say that that was because you were distracting me, Mr Molesley."

It obviously came across with the requisite indifference as he shuffled uncomfortably.

"Troubled, then," he tried again.

Her cigarette was lowered again and more smoke exhaled.

"Is it your business if I were troubled?" she asked him pointedly.

The remark left him still more unsure.

"I just thought you...you might like to talk, is all."

She snorted a little; never in her life had she felt less like talking than she did today.

"That'll be the day."

He was silent for a few moments; the tension suggesting that he was expecting her to continue. Another drag at the cigarette made it clear that she was not. He waited a few more seconds before starting.

"Look, Miss O'Brien," he began, not looking at her but with more conviction than she'd yet seen in him, "Something's bothering you. You can pretend as much as you like to be cold and aloof, as long as you know that it's not going to work on me. I'd venture that no one else's guessed because you'd never let them look at you for long enough."

The force of his tone had brought her to at last look at him. She wasn't sure whether to laugh it off or not, and for once she didn't have the confidence to try to. Instead she sat there, a little wide-eyed as he continued.

"You might have thought that I'd just let you go on ignored like the rest of them do. Well, I think that it would be a stain on both of our integrities after what happened last night."

At this she thought she could try to laugh.

"You're a right talker, you are, once you get going," she remarked lightly.

She was surprised when she turned back to him and found his face to be quite serious. To avoid his gaze she bowed her head, tapping the ash from her cigarette onto the ground.

"I suppose that's the way you go, if you're in service," she mused, "All them hours having to shut up when the family's around, you jump at the chance to actually open your mouth."

His face had remained serious and she realised that she was in danger of babbling. She clamped her lips together all too suddenly, making her thought process as good as transparent. It did not even surprise her when he reached forward, shyly at first and rested his hands at the top of her neck to touch her face. There was no reason not to let him. He kissed her tentatively, the polar opposite of herself the previous night: the single kiss was lingering and gentle as opposed to swift. She cast her cigarette onto the floor and raised her hands to mirror his; pressing, kissing back as she did so. When they broke apart for air she was hard pressed not to giggle. He obviously saw and looked taken aback for it. Despite her mirth, she sought to reassure him.

"Would you look at us!" she partially exclaimed.

He still looked puzzled. It was, she supposed now that she thought on it, only right that he should: she herself had no idea what was so funny. She resolved to look more sober.

"Oh," she began, absently brushing the side of his face with her hand.

"So not a bad 'Oh', then?" he enquired hesitantly.

"No," she replied finally, "I suppose not."

She kissed his again, without inhibition this time; passionately. Upon them finally breaking apart, she returned inside, leaving him there on the step. She tidied her hair as she went: it was the last thing she needed for Elsie Hughes to start asking questions.

**Please review: I'd like to know if I'm barking up the right tree with these two. **


	3. Chapter 3

**1.**

The unladylike curse issued from her room was obviously audible in the corridor. Elsie Hughes came hurrying in to find Sarah examining the large hole torn from where her skirt had been a moment ago. Upon finding that no one's life was immediately in danger, the housekeeper looked disapproving.

"Really, Miss O'Brien, such language!"

Sarah ignored this remark, examining the tear in the fabric. Deciding that it was worth mending and that she would do it later, Miss O'Brien realised that she could only ignore the housekeeper for so long and reluctantly looked up to respond.

"I don't remember inviting you in," she replied as coolly as she could muster.

"And I don't remember you owning any of the rooms in this house, Miss O'Brien."

It pained her to admit it, but on this occasion Mrs Hughes was too quick for her. Her gaze returned to the rip and she gave a half-hearted shrug. The housekeeper was still talking.

"Hurry up, Miss O'Brien, the dressing gong will be rung soon and if you're going to dress you'll have to do it quickly."

"I suppose I shall have to wait for you to leave the room first."

She hoped it had come across with the required venom. Mrs Hughes however, having the constitution of an ox, looked dismally unfazed. Quite the opposite of leaving the room, she closed the door and stood, regarding Miss O'Brien with her hands on her hips.

"I will not be spoken to like that," she all but hissed, "Really, Miss O'Brien, what has got into you recently?"

What a question, Mrs Hughes, she thought. And not one I'm about to discuss with you either; it's more than my life's worth. Yes, weeks later she was still plagued by guilt about her Ladyship's baby and rightly so. She doubted the feeling would ever altogether leave her. Not that she could tell anyone that, especially not Elsie Hughes, about it: she hadn't even told Molesley. It was odd, it now occurred to her, that even in her thoughts she still referred to him as Molesley- even though they had been...meeting regularly for two weeks now. She supposed that he was her gentleman caller and immediately felt an urge to shudder: the expression was odious and trademark Mrs Hughes.

"Miss O'Brien?"

It took her a moment to register that the housekeeper was still regarding her with a look of great enquiry and that it must have appeared to her that she was in something of a daze. Not only that but she had failed both to answer the question or -indeed- retain what the question was. She went with the safest answer to most questions:

"Nothing, Mrs Hughes."

It obviously fitted as the housekeeper seemed to accept it, although she kept Miss O'Brien fixed with a shrewd look of distrust. Inwardly, Sarah could not help but be a little gleeful at how much _more _disapproving the housekeeper's face would be if she knew what her almost nightly visits to Downton village were in aid of.

**2.**

"You're here early."

"The master was kind enough to release me early tonight." 

She snorted quietly as she took a seat beside him on the bench.

"You're far too nice about them," she told him, "It's then that they start taking liberties; extra work and the like."

"I suppose I couldn't say I picked that up off you."

It was awkward how frighteningly true this remark unintentionally was. The discomfort must have shown in her face.

"What's wrong?" Molesley asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder; a gesture that when made the first time had astonished her and still surprised her a little each time she permitted it.

She sighed a little. Not now, Sarah, she thought. One day you maybe might tell him, but not now.

"Nothing," she replied, patting him gently on the knee, "Old lady Macbeth's been having a go at me today is all." 

He chuckled at the comparison between Downton's housekeeper and a murderess.

"Have I been getting you into trouble?" he wanted to know. Although his tone was light, it still appeared to genuinely concern him.

"No," she replied honestly, as far as she knew, Mrs Hughes was for once not the wiser to her evening activities, and then: "She just doesn't like me."

He chuckled again, more obviously this time. It made her laugh a little too.

"It's not funny," she told him, laughing properly herself as she gave him a pretend-admonishing slap on the jacket. It felt odd to laugh. Laugh nicely, that is, as opposed to at someone.

Her hand had rested on his lapel. The mood between them changed; a seriousness seemed to strike them. She knew what came next. He leant in just as she tugged on his lapel and kissed her. The same had ensued every night that they had met there, only slightly different words getting them there each time.

"Do you ever think of leaving service?" he asked, minutes after they had broken apart and sat holding hands. It was beginning to get much darker.

"Nearly every minute of the day."

"Then what's stopping you?" he enquired.

Despite how surprisingly forward his questions could be, she was still unused to their directness. They gave no room for a dithering answer.

"Where would I go?" she asked in return, and then added, "And you."

It was not in a questioning way. It seemed to even mildly startle him.

"Who says that I have to stay?" he asked.

She looked at him shrewdly.

"What are you implying, Mr Molesley?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," he replied bluntly, "I only asked who said that I _have _to stay in service?"

Considering this, she replied:

"I suppose it's just not a very butler-ish thing to do. You can't imagine Mr Carson ever leaving, can you?"

"There are exceptions to every rule," he pointed out quietly.

"Unfortunately, not to the lights out rule, not in the old witch's book anyway."

Time to leave: she got up. He held onto her hands a little too long. She turned back to him questioningly. He looked very serious, from what she could see in the newly dim light.

"Think about," he entreated her, "Just think about it." 

As she walked back up to the house she got the feeling that she would think of very little else.

**Sorry I've been so pathetic lately, but I had my last exam today, so I should get better soon. Please review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**1.**

This was the last thing she needed, the very very last thing. And he knew it. In that moment, she hated her former friend- well, accomplice. You could always tell when he knew he had someone over a barrel, the cold fiendish twinkle of the eye told her all she needed to know.

"You bastard," she muttered coldly back to him, "How do you know where I've been going?"

Thomas' look of self-satisfaction only grew.

"Saw you of course," was his smug reply, "You weren't really making a secret of it, were you? Snogging his face off in broad day light in the middle of the village."

Dismally, the only countering remark her brain could process was that it had _not_ been the middle of the day, but the evening. She said nothing in response, hoping her glare would speak for her. Thomas, however was unfazed.

"You ought to be careful," he warned her, though mocking was prevalent in his tone.

"Elsie Hughes will only find out if you tell her!" she snapped furiously at him, taking a sharp drag on her cigarette for courage.

Thomas exhaled coolly.

"I don't mean that," he drawled in reply, "I mean you want to be careful getting involved with a fella' like him."

Of all the ridiculous things...! She couldn't quite believe it, but she found herself feeling sorry for Mr Bates' having had to contend with this cretin for so long.

"Now I know you're talking rubbish," she told him, turning away and taking another drag.

He laughed under his breath, leaning towards her ear which she had unwittingly presented him.

"I wouldn't be quite so sure, Miss O'Brien. Butlers can be slippery sods."

She snorted contemptuously and turned to face him with surprising confidence given the way he was bearing down over her.

"If Mr Carson heard you say that he'd have your guts for garters," she informed him.

It was his turn to snort and he did so with equally fervent contempt.

"If you ask me, he's been sleeping with old Hughsie for years."

She couldn't say anything to that, after all she wasn't exactly innocent of creating the odd rumour now and then for her own amusement. Again, she surprised herself with a flush of sympathy for one of her colleagues for having to endure this moron.

"Just because you've long lost the ability to feel things Thomas, doesn't mean the rest of us have."

She turned away from him again. It did nothing to deter him. He leant over her again.

"Just think about it," he whispered into her ear.

She stared ahead, determined not to give him the reaction he wanted. He exhaled a steady plume of smoke into her face, dropped his cigarette and returned to the house. She cursed him as she coughed.

**2.**

"Miss O'Brien, what's got into you today?"

It was the second time in a remarkably short period that Elsie Hughes had asked her this. And, amazingly, this time the answer was not blinding compunction. However, it was still uneasy; it was doubt. Stooping to pick up the bundle of sheets that she had just dropped she replied:

"Nothing."

This,however, did not wash.

"I don't believe it, Miss O'Brien, I just don't believe it. You're not usually _this _sloppy." 

More emphasis than Sarah felt comfortable with was put on "this" but she couldn't rouse herself to refute it.

"It may surprise you to know, Mrs Hughes, that I've got one or two things on my mind at the minute," she told her coldly.

"I'm sure we all have, especially with Thomas leaving us on Monday."

The name jumped out at her from the sentence and alarmed her.

"Why? What's he been saying?" she asked, panic creeping into her voice.

"What hasn't he been?" Mrs Hughes asked I exasperation. Sarah's anxiety escalated until the housekeeper continued, "Mainly goading Mr Bates and William because they haven't joined up yet."

Sarah hoped her sigh of relief wasn't as immensely audible as it felt. The housekeeper was scrutinising her with something akin to concern.

"I'd like to thing that you'd feel able to talk to me; if there was...anything you wanted to share."

Oh no, Sarah O'Brien wasn't _that _easily tricked into confidence.

"I'm fine, Mrs Hughes." she gave her tone a firm diction.

The housekeeper continued to frown at her even as she left the room and left Miss O'Brien to sort the sheets.

**3.**

"Well?"

She looked up at him from between his arms.

"Well what?"

A tiny trace of hurt seemed to pass over his face when he realised she didn't know what he was talking about.

"Have you thought any more about what I said?"

Oh. She had, she honestly had and she'd even thought of saying yes, but then... Thomas. The bastard. She looked away from his gaze.

"About us leaving service?" she asked, playing for time so that she could form an answer.

Rather than seeing it, she felt him nod his head above hers and gave a heavy sigh. It seemed to convey her emotions rather better than she'd meant it to, he held her gently at arm's length to look at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

How could she tell him that Thomas, Thomas of all people, was causing her to have second thoughts?

"I have thought about it," she told him honestly, at the same time reaching up to grasp at his lapels; conscious that an honest word could cause him to drop her in disgust or offence.

"And?"

Why was he pushing her like this? She looked up at him with uncertainty, hoping that he would take the hint from her expression. He didn't: typical man, she thought.

"And," she began, "I'm not...I'm not sure. I'm not saying no either!" she added hurriedly, seeing his face, "I'm just not sure."

The hurt was blatant in his face. There was no good in wishing she could take the words back, they were out there.

"Well," he said after a while, "Well, Miss O'Brien, I was clearly mistaken about us."

His hold on her had loosened considerably.

"I thought...I thought..."

He seemed quite unable to declare exactly what he had thought but it wasn't necessary, she knew as well. It was her who had caused this, but all she could do was get angry with him.

"Well, you thought wrong, then, didn't you?"

The anger was coursing through her; all that she would have told him; all that she would have done for him. And now this, because of that bloody Thomas. But she was still angry with him, even though she knew she shouldn't be.

"Goodbye, Mr Molesley."

She hoped that she pronounced his title with coldness to equal the way that he had pronounced hers.

As she turned to go back to the house she did not see him watching her retreating back all the way with desperate eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sarah."

She smiled uncertainly at him from the door. The intimate atmosphere of his bedroom was horrendously disconcerting.

"Does the master know you're here?"

She shook her head.

"No, but his mother does."

For all that she'd ever said about her, Mrs Crawley had been remarkably sympathetic and had allowed Sarah to see Molesley without too much persuasion. But then, Sarah reflected, she was probably more preoccupied with her son's impending departure.

"She promised not to tell Mrs Hughes," she added with another weak smile.

"That's good."

It seemed he couldn't think of anything else to say. So she was going to have to. The loudly ticking clock was remarkably distracting.

"Last week...I ...You...We seemed to..."

_Tick, tick, tick._

"We seemed to..."

"Fall apart?"

She was glad that he met her halfway with that one.

"Yes."

_Tick, tick, tick._

"I was probably..." admitting she was wrong was never something she could do very well, "I probably seemed like I didn't want... didn't want to..."

She didn't quite know how to finish it, he seemed to be scrutinising her carefully.

"Did you want to?" he asked.

She watched the floor as she nodded. There was a moment of stillness as the implication of what she meant sank into both of them. Almost numbly, she felt him rise from where he sat at the edge of the bed. And then:

"Oh, Sarah."

At his words they seemed to fall face first into each other's arms and held each other tightly, swaying back and forth.

It felt like an age until they moved a fraction apart, arms still holding on.

"I'm sorry," he told her, "I was too hasty. I assumed you didn't want me."

"I didn't, for a moment," she confessed, "But as soon as I was alone in my room I realised how wrong I was."

They held each other again. A clumsy attempt to sit down and they were lying beside each other on his bed. Realising how quickly their position had inadvertently accelerated, Sarah found herself blinking like a deer caught in a light. He realised too and cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean for... well, that is to say, at the moment I..." he seemed flustered at the intensity of the eyes next to him, "I... you will marry me, won't you?"

The question couldn't have surprised her more than if it had been proffered to her by Thomas dressed as a clown. However, her answer would certainly be a different one to him.

"Yes."

And he kissed her there and then, lying down on his bed.

**End.**

**Please review.**


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